


For Dean

by Grit_N_Guts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eileen is emotional support, Eileen is kind and very patient, Emotional fall out from Dean's death, Gen, Grieving Sam Winchester, Men of Letters Bunker, S15 E 20 - Carry On - Fill In, Sam and Eileen rebuild rekaltionship slowly, Sam dealing with Dean's death, Sam's life without Dean, Sam's relationship with his son, Season 15 Episode 20 - Carry On, Supernatural Series Finale fill in, sam quits hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grit_N_Guts/pseuds/Grit_N_Guts
Summary: Because of Dean, for Dean, to honor Dean. That has been the mantra of Sam’s life since the barn.He feels incredibly lucky that life has come up with a few surprises along the way and made it possible for him to regain a measure of real happiness that he would have never expected possible on that darkest of days.There will always be a Dean-shaped hole in his life until it’s over. There will always be melancholy days, like today, when Dean’s presence feels almost real and the urge to talk to his brother is overwhelming. But he doesn’t have to let that overshadow his existence, he can share his pain and still give and receive love.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	For Dean

**Author's Note:**

> A little insight into Sam’s life after Dean for my own head canon to make their long separation more palatable.

“Dean?” Sam calls towards the door.

A simple word. A thousand different possible connotations and intonations. All of them based in love. Even the angry ones. This has always been true. Today, right now, “Dean?” means…

“Where are you going?”

Dean just barely sticks his head around the door.

“Told ya, I’m heading out.” Dean’s tone carries the slightest hint of annoyance.

“Must’ve forgotten,” Sam answers with a stern frown. “Now why don’t you come in here and remind me?”

Sam’s rewarded with a huge sigh and eye-roll from Dean as he slinks around the doorjamb, curls unruly as always, warm eyes fixing Sam with a mix of concern and scrutiny. He looks nothing like his namesake, of course, but he occupies a large part of Sam’s heart just the same and Sam is glad to let his favorite word in the world continue to roll off his tongue with as much feeling and in as many different inflections as he had used with his brother.

“You sure you’re ok, Dad?” Dean Jr. steps up to Sam’s desk by the window in his study and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly. “Getting kinda forgetful there, don’t ya think?”

Sam knits his brows in consternation. “Am not. Just because I can’t remember everything you might have mentioned in passing whenever? I beat you in chess last night three times outta five so I’m pretty sure I’ve still got all my marbles.”

“You beat me because I let you, old man,” Dean teases and grins from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief.

_‘Well, touché, the kid is whip smart and pretty much a genius at chess_ ,’ Sam admits with a good amount of pride.

Nevertheless, he can’t let that sit, so he snorts in mock derision and sits up straighter. “Old man? I can still take you down easy in a sparring match.”

Dean lifts his hand from Sam’s shoulder in capitulation, flashing the fairly new anti-possession tattoo on his forearm. “That you can, dad. ‘Cause you’re a crazy fitness nut and I’m a lover not a fighter.”

“You didn’t just say that.” Sam barks a laugh as the friendly banter lifts the grey cloud handing over him and eases the iron weight on his heart in the way that only his son can.

“I sure did. Learned from the best.” Dean points a finger gun at Sam.

“Believe it or not, I was both back in the day and I gotta say, I’m glad you didn’t choose ‘fighter’,” Sam jokes and laughs again when Dean’s face scrunches in disgust at the idea of his dad having an active sex life.

“TMI, Dad, _please_.”

“You started it,” Sam chortles and studies his son for a moment. His thick brown hair, chestnut brown eyes, expressive brows and proud nose are all clearly inherited from Eileen’s side of the family, though he sports the Winchesters’ strong jawline, square chin and impressive height. But what Sam is most proud of is the kid’s intelligence, kindness, determination, humor, empathy, curiosity and his thoughtful nature.

Sam has always attributed these positive traits in Dean Jr. to Eileen’s influence and she has always insisted they came straight from his father – both only seeing the best in each other. Of course, Dean Jr. has never met his uncle, but Sam is often reminded of his brother by some of Dean expressions and gestures. And although he’s not technically a junior, Sam thought of his son as Dean Jr. from the beginning.

“So, where _are_ you going?” Sam restarts the conversation, trying to keep his melancholy thoughts at bay. He glances out the big window at the snow-covered yard and icicle-decorated roof line, glinting eerily in the pre-dawn light. “It’s still dark and pretty slick out.”

“I got a long weekend off, remember? Heading up to the bunker,” Dean says in a carefully neutral tone.

The _bunker_ , of course. Sam now vaguely recalls Dean Jr. mentioning that a few days back and he’s not at all surprised that he pushed it out of his brain immediately thereafter. Even after all these years, the thought of the Men of Letters bunker is still painful to Sam. He’s only been back there a handful of times in the twenty-five years since Dean’s been gone.

Of course, he couldn’t just let the bunker and its vast resources sink back into obscurity. It had sat silent and forgotten for way too long before he and Dean had found it and made it their base or operation. It had served them well, protected them, sheltered them, and granted them access to a treasure trove of information and weaponry they would have never been able to amass otherwise. Though Sam had grown fond of it much more reluctantly than Dean had, over time, even Sam had to admit that it was as much of a home to them as they’d ever had.

And the all-too-short time he and Dean spent in the bunker after they’d defeated Chuck and were finally able to enjoy their life free from any cosmic influence had been several of the happiest months of Sam’s life. 

Mundane routine, quiet days, simple hunts, easy camaraderie, relaxed meals, all filled with Dean’s laughter and the funny antics of their new furry family member. Months that turned out to be a rare gift, one Sam has regretted bitterly not to have paid careful attention to at the time. Through the many years without Dean, though, he has become increasingly grateful for having those memories to relive at all.

Still, back then, after Dean had been ripped from Sam so unexpectedly; after Sam had brought Dean’s body back and taken meticulous care preparing it; after he had returned from the pyre’s site with only the small amount of his brother’s ashes that he carries with him always; after Sam had roamed the bunker like a shadow of himself with the quiet clicking of Miracle’s nails always at his side; after there was nothing left there but unbearable pain; the shrill ring of Dean’s other-other phone and resulting call to action had been a life raft in Sam’s black sea of despair and he departed gladly.

However, just because he couldn’t stand another day in that tomb of knowledge and artifacts that seemed filled with his brother’s spirit at every turn, didn’t mean that he couldn’t hand over guardianship and access to the bunker to some of his closest allies. Jody had been apprehensive, Donna excited and Bobby matter-of-fact at the responsibility of keeping the bunker in operation and its properties marshalled and carefully distributed to the right people. It spoke volumes about Sam and Dean’s close friends that all of them had stepped up to the plate without hesitation.

Sam shakes off the memories of his darkest days with great effort. He clears his throat, aware that his son has been watching him with concern.

“Uh-huh, yeah, right, I remember. You said you’re meeting Jody?” Sam returns his concentration to Dean Jr. and is grateful his son doesn’t make a big deal out of the long pause, having become accustomed to Sam’s reaction at the mention of the bunker.

“Yes, Jody and Alex’s daughter Beth and maybe Donna’s son, too. We want to _finally_ finish the database. We made pretty good progress during winter break, but we’re getting to the last few boxes of paper files now.”

“Wow. That’s great, Dean. Excellent job.” Sam is actually impressed at the news, having expected there would always be another hidden room or cabinet full of paraphernalia in that vast underground labyrinth.

“You know that’s not on me. I’m just helping the project over the finish line. _You_ ’re the one who came up with it,” Dean responds in the tone of someone who has stated these facts repeatedly.

“Was just an idea back then,” Sam deflects with a shake of his head.

“Oh, Dad, just take credit for once,” Dean chides. “Without you, all of it would still be mostly inaccessible. But _because_ of you the materials have helped a crapload of hunters over the years and that saved lives.”

“Couldn’t have done it alone,” Sam shrugs the compliment away.

It’s true that with the help of the girls in Jody’s care, and with as much involvement as Sam could muster at the time, they’d set up a solid electronic system and started organizing the library, case files, artifacts and other materials into a user-friendly database which now helps hunters around the country. It’s staggering to think that it had taken the better part of twenty-five years and a second generation of helpers, including his own son, to get it done, but since none of them were full-time Men or Women of Letters and no one lived year-round at the bunker, they could only chip away at it in their spare time.

Sam had been both hugely apprehensive and hesitantly proud when Dean Jr. had started to show more and more interest in the Men of Letters legacy and eventually asked Sam’s permission to visit the bunker when he was just twelve years old.

He’d always been a curious kid who loved books and stories, the more mysterious and danger-filled the better. From an early age he’d been more interested in ancient mythology and folklore than Disney-fied fairytales or children’s books. Dean was only five when Sam found him with a massive copy of the Odyssey on his lap, looking with undaunted fascination at the illustrations of Scylla the sea monster and Polyphemus the cyclops ripping people’s heads off and eating them. Sam knew then that his son would doubtlessly follow in in his footsteps in some way and it scared the shit out of him.

Of course, there was absolutely no chance that he would bring Dean Jr up in the hunting life, both for the child’s sake and because Dean would kick his ass seven ways to Sunday for putting another kid through what they had endured. However, he also didn’t want to hide the truth from his son and Eileen agreed that knowledge was always the best weapon against the cruel realities of the world. Once he was old enough to understand, Sam started to tell his son about Uncle Dean and their lives and “adventures” in kid-friendly terms. Young Dean loved Sam’s stories, always begging for “just one more, Daddy” and Sam found unexpected joy in recounting some of the Winchester brothers’ successes in ever more elaborate ways, always painting Dean as the hero of the story and highlighting “saving people” as the reason for what they did.

With Eileen’s encouragement, Sam eventually began to write some of these stories down and through a string of fortunate circumstances including the unlikely help of Becky Rosen, the stories were turned into the YA targeted series “The Wesson Chronicles”. Thanks to their continued publication with every greatly-anticipated new volume, and Eileen’s work, Sam’s family had been able to afford a moderate and comfortable life without relying on Charlie’s infallible credit card.

Sam also can’t deny that he gets a huge kick out of the fact that his novels are definitely more successful than Chuck’s _Supernatural_ books ever were and he likes to think that Dean is proud of him for having found yet another way to kick Chuck in the teeth.

Telling their story first to his son and then to the world helped Sam find a way back to himself in many ways. It slowly allowed him to reconnect with some of the overwhelming emotions he shut down for self-preservation right after he lost Dean. Reliving those years with his brother was still startlingly painful, but he could work through that pain and past the bitterness of grief and loss and see the beauty in all the good they had accomplished together. 

Turning those hunting stories into what the critics called “engaging and imaginative tales of self-discovery, confidence building, and problem solving” that may have helped some some kids out there in the world feel more self-assured and resourceful is an unforeseen and positive side effect that still boggles Sam’s mind.

Regardless, it took a lot out of Sam to bring his son to the bunker and show him around the familiar halls while the never-fading echoes of both happiness and desolation assaulted him at every turn. The reminders of his life there with Dean as clear and fresh as if his brother was about to walk into the kitchen at any moment. Luckily, the crushing overload of emotions were quickly counterbalanced by Dean Jr’s open enthusiasm for the place. He explored the multitude of rooms with bright-eyed wonder, asked a million questions and looked at Sam like he was, for the first time, unshakably convinced that all of his dad’s stories were actually real. Dean Jr’s excitement made the lingering imprint of his brother’s energy more bearable, partially and ironically _because_ it reminded Sam of Dean’s own delight in the “bat cave” when they first found it.

That very first day at the bunker sparked something in Dean Jr. and laid the foundation for his own path. It ignited his interest and fueled his passion, leading to studies in history and folklore and kindled the desire to make himself useful to the greater good without having to follow lock-step into the family hunting business. Now at twenty-one years old, Dean is deep into his college education with a double major in psychology and anthropology and a minor in folkloric studies. Sam could not be more proud. 

Watching his son become a man and supporting him as Dean claimed his Men of Letter’s legacy on his own terms has been one of the great joys of Sam’s life.

He smiles now at the thought of how Dean would have given Dean Jr. endless shit about becoming a history nerd/ librarian and how all the teasing would only have been a cover for his pride in the boy the same way it had been when Dean teased Sam about his love of books and learning.

With his attention pulled back to the present by his son’s fidgeting, Sam notices the small case he carries in his other hand. “What you got there?”

“Uhm, Uncle Dean’s gun.” Dean Jr. sounds sheepish. “I thought I’d take it with me and give it a workout at the shooting range in the bunker. If that’s ok?”

Sam’s eyebrows rise in surprise. The old Colt M1911A1 doesn’t get much use anymore, even though Sam has kept in top working condition at all times, and he knows that Dean would like it to be used; would love the idea that Sam gave it to his son. Dean Jr. never showed much interest in or aptitude for shooting and he’s nowhere near the marksman his namesake had been. Still, once he deemed himself old enough – right after that first visit to the bunker – the kid had shown up with the locked gun case one day and declared that he needed to learn how to protect himself and others from the dangers his parents had told him about and that he wanted to make Uncle Dean proud. Dean Jr.’s request had been straightforward and well-reasoned, so Sam and Eileen had set up a training schedule for him, giving him the opportunity to try out all kinds of different weapons and fighting styles, all with limited success. Dean learned enough for adequate self-defense and but never developed the proficiency a hunter needed, which left Sam and Eileen relieved that they didn’t have to convince him to not follow in their footsteps.

“Yeah, of course, it’s ok,” Sam nods at his son with a little smirk, “I’m just surprised.”

Dean shrugs looking embarrassed. “Well, it’s been a while and Donna told me last time I saw her that Uncle Dean would rip me a new one if he were here for letting my practice lag.”

Sam’s heart gives a hard thump against his ribcage and his eyes prick in appreciation of how, even after all this time, their friends keep Dean alive through all the little remarks that naturally make him a part of their daily conversations.

“Very true.” He smiles through the momentary sadness. “Can’t hurt to keep at it.”

“Even if I’m _shit_ , you mean?” Dean flashes a crooked grin at his dad.

“I would never _say_ that,” Sam protests with an answering smile.

Dean rumbles out a deep belly laugh, that seems to come straight from the soundtrack of Sam’s memory of his brother. Sam tries not to let the wistful expression show on his face.

“Nice, dad. You don’t have to _say_ it. I get it. I’ll work on it and surprise you next time we go to the range together,” Dean promises.

Sam has no doubt. Dean Jr. manages to surprise him pretty regularly. In fact, just last month, Sam was momentarily stunned when his son came home from college for the holidays and showed him and Eileen the new anti-possession tattoo on this forearm. Sam worried for a hot second that Dean had changed his mind and wanted to become a hunter after all, but his fear was quickly quelled when Dean explained that it was just a precaution and that he mainly wanted to honor Uncle Dean’s memory twenty-five years after his death. Sam couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat or the tears in his voice. He felt Eileen’s reassuring hand on his knee, confirmation that she understood completely. Thanks to the stories from Jody, Donna, Garth, and everyone else he loved, Dean was almost as real to Dean Jr. as he was to Sam and Sam could never thank them enough for showing their love in this way. For Dean. For him. For the lifetime they lived together before that day in the barn.

“I’ll take you up on that, buddy,” Sam’s smile is genuine and warm. “Now you’d better hit the road, if you wanna make it to the bunker before noon.”

Dean glances out the window where the first rays of the rising sun have just broken through the clouds and suddenly turn the winter landscape into a tableau of a million tiny diamonds glittering in all colors of the rainbow.

Bending down, hugging his dad and kissing his cheek, Dean says quietly, “Have a good day today, ok? And say ‘hi’ for me?”

“I will,” Sam answers hoarsely at the confirmation that his sone remembers.

They wave to each other as Dean leaves the room. Sam can hear him walk through the kitchen, share a few words with Eileen and leave through the back door. Turning his office chair towards the window, Sam watches as Dean backs his old Jeep out of the driveway, flashes his lights twice as good-bye, and drives slowly down the street and out of sight.

Sam sighs deeply and closes his eyes, letting the early morning sunlight fall on his face, making red dots dance across his eyelids.

In moments like this, Sam regularly wonders how he’s gotten this far, with an amazing life partner and an awesome kid, a fulfilling career and as normal a life as he could have ever imagined.

Of course, the answer is easy. It’s all because of Dean, for Dean, in honor of Dean and made possible by endless amounts of patience and understanding from Eileen.

God, he’d been a mess. No, he’d been _destroyed_. Cracked into so many pieces they were never going to fit back together no matter how much glue or alcohol or meditation he applied as a cover up.

The memory of their last minutes together in the barn is as vivid and excruciating as the day it happened. It hasn’t dulled at all over the past twenty-five years since Sam only allows it to surface on the rarest of occasions.

Giving Dean permission to go was and forever will be the hardest thing Sam has ever had to do. Forcing those seven simple words out of his constricted chest had been nearly impossible. They stuck in his brain and hung on, clawing at his throat, begging to crawl back into the shelter of his tortured heart and die there.

Just like Sam wanted to. Just as part of Sam did die that day.

How could he exist without Dean?

Ultimately, though, he could not be selfish. Not when Dean had given everything over and over – for him, for the world; not when Dean had always protected him, stood up for him, been strong for him; not when Dean knew that he was finally free to decide his own fate; not when Dean was asking him in his last precious minutes on earth to accept what was the same way Dean had; not when Dean finally started to believe that he was worthy of being loved and deserving of peace.

Sam had to prove to his brother that the stunning words he was just gifted were in fact true and that Dean’s trust and confidence in him was not misplaced. That Sam _was_ strong enough to go on, to Always Keep Fighting, to live a life, to fulfill Dean’s first and last wish for him to be safe and happy. Sam could not – would not – disappoint Dean.

Feeling like he choked out part of his soul with the words, Sam told Dean it was ok, that he could go now and he received Dean’s peaceful good-bye in return, shattering apart only after he felt Dean go limp against him and his brother’s head grow impossibly heavy on his shoulder, his shirt wet with Dean’s last tear .

With the world around him drowning in his tears, the air around him ripped by his gasping sobs, the earth under his feet trembling with the force of his grief, Sam clung to Dean and fought for sanity, for purchase on reality, for a way to make himself function and not simply give up. In that second, all he wanted to do was to follow his brother off the earth they’d fought so hard for.

But he had promised his brother he would not. He had promised his brother it was ok. He owed his brother his life so many times over that he had to find a way to pay him back this one last, final time. Make it count.

It all had seemed completely out of reach just then.

To this day Sam has no recollection of what happened next, memories buried so deep they will never see the light of day. He knows, because he checked later, that the kids were safely dropped off at their parents’ house. He doesn’t know now he managed that. Between the barn and sitting by Dean’s bedside holding onto his dead brother’s sleeve like a lost child everything is blank.

And then Dean was truly _gone._

The next days were foggy.

Being was hard; sleeping was harder; waking up was hardest because it reset the torturous loop of a Dean-less existence. Days blended together, uncounted and inconsequential, in the constant golden glow of the bunker’s halls. Aimless, purposeless, without anchor, Sam drifted through the following days....until the phone rang.

He fled the bunker and threw himself into hunting alone without second thought. He didn’t have it in him to be around people, not the people who mattered anyway. He couldn’t stand the thought of having to explain, make excuses for himself or lessen their pain when he could barely move through his own. Sure, he made all the necessary phone calls, accepted heartfelt condolences, declined all offers of help and company as gently as he could. He set things in motion, received check-up calls and took cases thrown his way. He hunted. Did what Dean had asked of him. Kept living. Kept fighting. Hunting kept him focused, kept his body moving, his mind occupied, his heart disengaged. Months later when Eileen joined him, quiet, strong and unassuming, he let her. She never asked anything of him, just stayed with him, worked with him, had his back, lent endless support and warmth and gave him space when he needed it. At first Sam simply accepted it because he couldn’t find the words to send her away. When he finally tried to gently tell her that perhaps she should move on because he couldn’t stand how unfair it was to her to keep watch over his broken shadow, she simply refused and told him she was hunting anyway so there was no reason they couldn’t at least look out for each other. Weeks passed until Sam realized that he didn’t want to be without Eileen’s steady and kind presence around him any longer. Finding pieces of his former self along the way, he managed to see the good in the situation, began to feel his initial fondness for her return and he opened up to her little by little. He needed to try this – for Dean. 

He remembers the day when he felt his first real smile emerge after Eileen had cracked a pretty dumb joke. She had cried when she saw him smile. She kissed him then, so sweet and soft. She tasted of salty tears and the blueberry muffin she just ate, and something warm bloomed in Sam’s chest where his shriveled heart had struggled to keep going all these months. And he thought he could do this, too – for Dean. 

It’s not like unicorns pranced and candy grew on trees thereafter, but Sam and Eileen found a new rhythm with each other. They hunted, they traveled, they took some time off in between to visit friends. They were good for each other. They were partners and eventually lovers again. Although he still retreated into solitude quite often, Sam slowly reconnected with life and his chosen family and found a way to balance the constant thrum of loss and emptiness inside himself with some long overdue joy and renewed purpose.

At first, they didn’t speak about the future, really, choosing instead to slowly start sharing stories of their past. Finding comfort in what had been first slowly morphed into a curiosity of what could be and finally transformed into a cautious plan.

It was just over three years into their partnership when the future planned itself.

Sam sat tired, bloody and grime-covered on one of the plastic chairs in their hotel room after a dicey hunt. He felt satisfied with another job well done but was also relieved that they didn’t have another one lined up immediately. They could both use a little time off to recoup after this one. Eileen had just finished stitching up the sizeable gash in his shoulder and he had carefully cleaned the abrasions on her cheek and chin. She emerged from the bathroom, dressed in comfortable sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt and Sam started to gather his aching limbs to get up and head for shower when she stopped him with a hand on his arm and a serious expression on her face that sent him straight back into his chair with a feeling of dread.

“We need to talk,” she signed and sat down across from him.

“OK,” he signed back, unsuccessfully scanning her expression for any sign of what was to come.

She pulled a flat, gift-wrapped package out of her bag, pushing it across the table at Sam with a nod of encouragement. Sam was confused. He feared the talk would end in some confirmation that she had finally had enough of him, but he tentatively accepted the gift and looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“What’s this? Not my birthday,” he signed.

She smiled crookedly and gave a little sideways shrug but didn’t say anything else.

A moment later Sam sat with the carefully unwrapped and unfolded gift dangling from his fingers, staring at it in complete incomprehension. The small denim overalls with “Dean” embroidered across the chest looked tiny in Sam’s large hands. His brain numbly and futilely searched for reference points to what he was looking at but came up empty. After what seemed like an eternity or three, Eileen laid a hand against his cheek and drew his gaze to hers.

“Sam,” she spoke gently and slowly, “you’re gonna be a dad….if you want.”

Sam vividly remembers the flood of conflicting emotions that crashed over him at those words. From stone-cold horror to certain denial to incredulous happiness; everything jumbled together and clanged around in his skull. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to react, what to do, but one thing rang clear in his mind and overshadowed everything else with its absolute truth - “Dean would love this”. 

At that thought, Sam’s deeply dimpled smile emerged, brilliant, and the tears that flowed unimpeded were equal parts joy and regret for his gain and loss. He grabbed Eileen’s hands, kissed them both and then signed, “Yes, I’d love to. With you.”

As it turned out, on that day, a couple of ghouls in a muddy graveyard in Arkansas were the last monsters Sam Winchester ever took down. That was his last hunt.

Simple as that, and without question, Sam and Eileen retired from active hunting and turned their efforts to figuring out how to build a normal life for themselves. That uncharted territory was more terrifying than any hunt.

There was never any discussion about the baby’s name. Sam simply accepted it as part of the incredible gift Eileen had decided to share with him. Of course, he teased that 'Dean' might be an odd name for a little girl, but Eileen insisted it was the right name for their child, period. Once the tiny baby boy was laid in Sam’s arms, red-faced and screaming in decibels Sam had previously only experienced when his brother cranked the AC/DC in the Impala, Sam found it perfectly fitting that there was now a new Dean Winchester in the world.

Because of Dean, for Dean, to honor Dean. That has been the mantra of Sam’s life since the barn.

He feels incredibly lucky that life has come up with a few surprises along the way and made it possible for him to regain a measure of real happiness that he would have never expected possible on that darkest of days.

There will always be a Dean-shaped hole in his life until it’s over. There will always be melancholy days, like today, when Dean’s presence feels almost real and the urge to talk to his brother is overwhelming. But he doesn’t have to let that overshadow his existence, he can share his pain and still give and receive love.

Sam is roused from his quiet contemplation by a warm hand on his shoulder and the smell of coffee hitting his nose. He blinks his eyes open against the glare of early morning and turns to Eileen with a smile.

“Morning,” he signs.

“Morning, yourself,” she grins and kisses him quickly before thrusting the coffee mug into his hands.

Sam takes a deep sip, humming in appreciation as the jolt of sugar and caffeine hits his system.

He looks back up at the beautifully strong woman who inexplicably decided to stick with him all those years ago and who has enriched his life beyond anything he could have ever expected. Beyond anything he thought he deserved. Dean made him promise that he would live and be happy and Eileen made him stick to his promise until it was true. He smiles.

“Hey, let’s take a drive,” Sam signs to Eileen after putting the cup down on his desk.

She looks surprised and a little suspicious. “Today?”

“Yes, today,” Sam gestures with conviction.

“Ok, where to? Lunch?” She signs back.

“No, let’s take the Impala up to the lake, stay overnight at the old cabin.” Sam speaks out loud as he signs. Almost like he wants Dean to hear it too.

The words feel good, right, a little overdue. He’s never taken Eileen there. It’s one of Bobby’s old hideouts. One Sam and Dean had used often. The one Dean liked the best because of the lake nearby and the surrounding woods. It had been Sam’s to keep, to take off the grid of hunter sanctuaries and use whenever he needed an escape for a few days and there had been many of “those days” over the years. Eileen had never questioned, always supported him as Sam had taken the time he needed to sort himself out and allow himself to be with his brother, talk to him, catch him up, recharge his own soul at the one place he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

But it’s time. He doesn’t want to be alone up there today. He wants to celebrate Dean’s memory with her.

“You sure?” Eileen asks, disbelief and understanding warring in the chocolate brown warmth of her eyes.

Sam catches a glimpse of the calendar icon on his computer screen as he shuts it down. Not that he needed the confirmation, he _felt_ it coming for days, always has. It’s January 24.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Come on. Let’s go.”

THE END


End file.
